A Frankly Unacceptable State Of Being
by wetrustno1
Summary: This is simply unacceptable. Degrading. Revolting. And god how his head hurts. In which Spock is sick and learns all too quickly of the many joys associated with the common cold, and Jim learns of the personality quirks of a Vulcan who has succumbed to a rather human weakness. Kirk/Spock, Sickfic.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello again! **

**First Star Trek fic, though I am getting rather pro at H/C and sickfics by now, so now it's just nailing the dialogue that gets tricky for me. Feedback greatly appreciated- hope you all enjoy.**

It takes Jim all of about twenty seconds after stepping onto the Bridge to realize something is wrong with his first officer. And though Vulcans are not the most expressive of beings, Jim himself is highly tuned to the particular behaviors of his second-in-command, so while it is difficult to explain quite _why_ Spock looked off this morning, there was still no denying that something, _something_, was wrong.

"Are you alright?"

Spock turns to regard him, eyebrow cocked and mouth wary. "I am quite well, Captain."

Unconvinced, Jim plows on. "Sleep good?"

This is met with a frown.

"I am afraid I do not understand the question, Captain. As sleep is a mandatory biological need to which all living species much succumb to, it is inevitable that I did, in fact sleep, and as Vulcans operate at a maximum efficiency level, it would be illogical to assume I had rested in a manner that was anything but positive."

Jim wrinkles his nose, half irritated, half amused, taking in the logically arranged heap of word vomit that has been presented to him. He's not entirely convinced by Spock's explanation, but a call from across the deck rouses him back to the more immediate problems at hand. He's already standing from his chair as he gives Spock one last look-over.

"You sure you're fine?"

Spock's mouth twitches. "Fine is far too vague an adjective, and hence an unacceptable one, Captain. I am, however, fit for duty and in no way incapable of preforming at top quality." There's no smile, per say, but Kirk knows enough to comprehend the significance of the glitter in the Vulcan's eyes as something rather close to teasing.

"Right. Forgot who I was talking to." Cracking a grin, Jim gives a friendly little punch to Spock's left arm (Spock has grown to expect these unusual human displays of camaraderie) and pushes past the console to plop down into the much coveted Captain's seat.

"Alright everybody, let's go- paces to go, aliens to see. Sulu, we ready to warp?"

"Ready when you are, Captain."

"That's what I like to hear." Jim gives the signal, and in the blink of an eye they are off, leaving only a sprinkling of iridescent debris behind in their wake. Their journey today is rather long- cataloguing a planet on the furthest reaches of space, and the bridge quickly fills with its usual cacophony of whirring machinery and banter between crew members, and Jim nearly forgets whatever concern he had for his first officer until-"

"heTcho!"

The whole bridge goes oddly silent, everyone stopping in action to stare incredulously at the seemingly impossible phenomena that has just occurred. Because there is absolutely no way, whatsoever, that Vulcans- that a Vulcan even could, _sneeze_.

"Mr. Spock?" Jim tries very hard to keep the incredulous edge out of his words, but it comes through anyway.

Spock sits up stiffly, and Jim has the feeling that if he could, he would be blushing scarlet.

"Yes, Captain."

It is not a question, merely an acknowledgment, and Jim opens and closes his mouth, trying to form an appropriate response that will not come across as condescending or stupid.

"Nothing."

Spock quirks an eyebrow.

Okay, so much for not stupid, but Jim can't really bring himself to humiliate the Vulcan anymore in front of the crew than vitally necessary, and for all he knows it was just a sneeze and nothing to fuss over. He herds the crew back to their stations and mutters a quiet "bless you" to Spock which goes mostly ignored, but Jim doesn't mind, so long as his first officer is alright. Because after all, it was just one little sneeze. It's not as though Vulcans can catch cold. Jim actually smirks a little to himself at the thought.

He's wrong.

The next forty minutes turn into an extremely awkward, terse combination of heavy silence and the forceful expulsion of bodily fluids as Spock's well-being takes a turn for the worst. Whatever pre-conceived ideas Jim may have had regarding the impenetrability of Vulcan immune systems are rapidly circling the drain, because whatever Spock has, sounds dreadful. Jim has labeled it a cold, because, (through all the sneezing and poorly-muffled coughing,) Spock seems alright, and Jim has decided that so long as his first officer isn't gushing blood or dropping to the floor in a dead faint, it isn't really his job to interfere. Spock being Spock, if something were seriously wrong he would just take himself to the med-bay.

Right?

After thirty five minutes of near constant sniffling which he has been trying fervently to ignore, Jim decides its time to intervene. Standing, he moves toward the Science station and perches behind his first officer.

"Mr. Spock?"

A pair of weary brown eyes turn to face him, and Jim is suddenly struck by just how bad Spock looks. For Spock to be anything less than perfect is unusual, and as of the moment Spock is looking positively atrocious by his usually immaculate standards. Jim is touched as he takes in the slightly sweaty brow, the green-tinged hue of fever that plays charmingly up the flawless face, all finished off by the adorable sniffle that punctuates his officer's next sentence as he tries to explain himself out of a sick leave.

Jim doesn't want to hear it.

"Go to your quarters."

Spock opens his mouth but ends up doubled over coughing instead of forming a persuasive counter-argument.

"That's an order." Jim adds, seizing this temporary lapse in ability to force his officer into some sense. "You're obviously sick with... well something, and you aren't any good to me if you're hacking up a lung in here."

Watery eyes stare up at him, lit with a spark of defiance.

"Captain, I assure you that everythahh-" He sneezes twice, deep and chesty and (probably -though Jim shudders to think what kind of crud Vulcans have in their lungs when they're as sick as this one) ripe with some sort of phlegm, if the slight rasp in Spock's voice is anything to go by. "...everything is- fine."

"Funny, I heard 'fine' was unacceptable."

"Captain, I-"

"I said go, Spock, now! You're sick as a dog and have no business being miserable out here when you clearly belong in bed, under a blanket."

Spock stiffens. The faintest tint of resistance edges up his cheeks, but when he responds his voice is steady.

"Of course, Captain. I shall return to my quarters for the remainder of this shift."

"Oh _no_ you don't. You aren't coming back here until Doctor McCoy has cleared you for duty and you're back to mocking all of my stupid human analogies telling me off for being an idiot all the time." He then adds: "That's an order."

Spock's mouth quirks very slightly. "Affirmative, Captain."

**Okay, what do you all think? I have yet to decide how slash-y this fic will be, so you will have to wait and be surprised. Have been positively drooling over the whole kirk/spock relationship, and have finally produced a chapter fit to share with the public. Reviews very much appreciated! Please note that I have little knowledge of the Star Trek universe, so if there is anything horribly wrong with my plot lines feel free to drop me a line and let me know what needs fixing. Will update soon! **

**XX **


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! Thank you to all my followers out there- glad to see this story has an audience of intrigued readers. Tried to make this chapter longer (and fluffier) to make up for the wait. Extra love to anyone to reviewed, and rest assured I will make the corrections pointed out as soon as possible. Enjoy.**

Though Spock cringes at the thought of admitting to his physical discomfort, the reality of the situation is that yes, he does indeed feel ill. It started a few days ago- an oddly achy body and the occasional urge to cough, though he refrained from caving into the sensation and largely ignored whatever symptoms presented themselves. Appropriate measures of rest and nourishment appeared to lessen the minor chills, and all and all there appeared no real reason to tear himself away from work in the name of such petty discomfort.

Besides, Vulcans certainly did not take sick days, and Spock wasn't about the break the stereotype.

Yet clearly he has, he thinks (somewhat bitterly) as he makes his way to his living quarters and mentally preps himself for the exhausting business of illness that will no doubt catch up to him in the very near future. Perhaps the open admission of being under the weather has opened the floodgates of physical symptoms. Regardless, he scarcely has time to request the activation of the door lock before every inch of him is squirming in exhaustion. He peels off his uniform and observes (with minor revulsion) that his skin is slightly clammy beneath the blue fabric.

Unhappily, he places the soiled clothing in the cleaning receptacle and commands the lights be turned down to 5%. In the semi-darkness he dresses down and crawls into bed, revealing in the extraordinary comfort of the blankets around him. Though the room is a good ten degrees warmer than the rest of the ship, Spock still shivers slightly, (though the building pressure in his sinuses serves as an adequate distraction from this atmospheric discomfort). Sniffing thickly, Spock drifts into a restless sleep.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jim fiddles aimlessly at the control panel, eyes wandering to the empty seat of his Commanding Officer. He misses several calls from Bones and very nearly fires a torpedo at a passing ship, before finally deciding that he might as well go check-up on Spock before he blows up the crew out of carelessness. He knows he shouldn't be this worried, (he's behaving like some doting girlfriend, for christsakes) but he's always had a soft spot for the Vulcan, and god knows the man wouldn't ask for help if his life depended on it. Hopefully this really is just a cold and he'll recover in a day or two, but Jim can't help from wanting to make sure everything really is fine.

A purely professional act.

No personal motive whatsoever.

Jim repeats this mantra several times, and is actually starting to believe it by the time he reaches the hallway outside his Commander's room. Granted, there is a certain amount of conviction added to the equation when one considers the (supposed) lack of emotion present in the second party, and Jim manages to shed most of his nerves by the time his hand actually moves to knock on Spock's door.

He hesitates for split second in contemplation of knocking, but then decides to simply let himself in with the override code. The panel slides open with a gentle whoosh, and Jim slips inside to inspect the damage. His first thought is that he has somehow lost vision in both eyes, as the room is so dark that he can hardly see a foot in front of him. His second is that of overwhelming heat. He knows only too well of Vulcan's natural attraction to a warm climate, but this is simply ridiculous. On top of it all the air is thick, heavy, gently seeping the melancholia only present in the event of illness. This strikes him oddly, as the very concept of Spock, of all people, being ill, still seems absurd, misplaced. Slowly, he makes his way towards the bed, apprehensive.

Suddenly this whole idea seems ridiculous, and Jim has halfway decided to just duck-out and leave Spock to suffer in private when a raspy voice calls from the bed.

"Captain?"

His officer slowly sits up, spine straight, hair sleek, the picture of perfect health. Jim very nearly would have believed the facade, were it not for the distinctively nasal quality which appears to have invaded Spock's usually impeccable voice.

"Computer, raise lights to twenty percent." Spock inwardly cringes at the atrocious sound his vocal chords have emitted, and attempts to clear his throat, standing in the process.

"Of what assistance do you require, Captain?"

"At ease, Spock, I'm not here to lecture you- or ask for your assistance, for that matter." When Spock remains stiffly standing, Jim sighs, abandoning any professional diction and slipping helplessly into the position of concerned friend .

"Sit down, you look terrible."

Spock's face remains, (as always) blank and impossible to read, but there is a brief flash of (pain? discomfort?) that clearly betrays his body's desire to collapse back into the soft comfort of his bed and sleep for several decades. However, instead of giving into the exhaustion, he does not move, and simply continues to stare at Jim, slightly incredulous.

"I am afraid I must inquire as to why you are here, Captain. As I am clearly incapacitated due to illness- and was exposed as such under your command- you are evidently not here under any duty-related rationale. However, I am not ill enough to merit any substantial medical assistance, and even under the hypothetical instance in which I did require any medication or treatment unavailable to me in the confines of my quarters, you- as a Captain with little to no medical background - would not be the one to provide it. Hence, I must ask again, Captain: of what do you require from me? And if there is nothing I can offer, then I must request that you depart immediately, if only to limit your own risk of becoming ill."

It's times like this that Jim honestly can't believe someone so brilliant can honestly be so thick.

"Jesus Spock, do you really think I'd drag my ass over to your sick bed to file flight reports or something?"

There is a slight shift of dark eyebrow which Jim takes as a silent "yes".

Jim sighs. "I'm _here_ to make sure you're alright- see if you needed anything. And I know, I know, you're 'fine' or 'functioning perfectly' or whatever you'd like to call it, but you're obviously sick, and I just wanted to see to it that you were... taken care of."

The Vulcan opens his mouth, sniffs heavily, and then speaks. "Captain, I appreciate the... sentiment, behind your actions, but I myself have absolutely no intention of permitting my superior to observe me in such a dismal condition." There is a brief pause, and then he adds. "Besides, I am quite adept at coping with illness without any external assistance, Vulcans do not customarily utilize nursemaids in the event of a minor malady." He stands suddenly, moving as though to show Jim out, but the abrupt movement proves too much and suddenly the entire room inverts itself before his eyes.

"Spock!"

Jim catches him around the stomach, and is alarmed at the heat he discovers beneath his fingertips. Spock makes a small noise not entirely unlike a moan, and Jim feels a rush of tenderness. Gently, he guides the Vulcan back to the bed, hands gingerly pressing at Spock's cheek and neck. The pulse under his jaw is frantic and his forehead clammy and far too hot, but the slow emersion of brown eyes from beneath their lids gives Jim a much needed pat of assurance.

"You okay?"

Spock nods, jerky and most unconvincing.

Jim lowers his voice. "Spock I need you to tell me what's wrong." Instinctively he lets his fingers trail through Spock's dark hair, and is surprised to find the Vulcan leaning into his touch. "What hurts?"

Spock coughs and tries to sniffle, but manages little more than a pathetic sort of wheeze at the discovery that he can no longer inhale through his nose. The pain in his head doubles and he bites his lip to prevent himself from moaning out loud. Jim strokes his hair, squeezes his hand. "Tell me what hurts."

Spock swallows, throat heavy. "Pressure." He mumbles. "Blocked sinus cavities. Inability to inhale properly. Chills." He pauses, tries to blow his nose, sinuses screaming in protest. "Body aches. Inability to remain ad a comfortable body temperature." Jim can hear the congestion, more obvious now, and can plainly see his first officer breathing through his mouth, struggling to catch breath between his oddly incomplete sentences.

"Hang on a sec."

The momentarily warmth provided by Jim's body vanishes, and Spock blearily opens one eye in search of his Captain. The room is cold, so cold, and the uncomfortable sensation in his head seems to have expanded into his eardrums, he can hear the blood rushing to his brain, his pulse in his throat...

The bed dips, and something hot is placed over his face.

"Breathe." Jim's voice is cool and unusually reassuring, and at any rate, Spock is hardly in a place to argue. He takes a breath, then two, slowly feeling the pressure in his head and chest dissolve as the steam from the damp towel works its magic. The warmth is decadent on his fevered skin, and he latches on to the sensation, gulping it down as the congestion begins to break up. For a moment the world is dark and warm and oddly safe, and for the first time in his life, Spock is rather glad of another being's presence during this time of need. Finally the water has gone cold and his sinuses relax, and the momentary darkness is lifted as Jim's face comes into focus.

Cerulean eyes flash concern. "Better?"

"Considerably." Jim hands him a glass of water in silence, and he consumes the entire glass in one long sip. His eyes flutter. Though the nasal discomfort has passed, his body still tingles with the general ache of illness, and Spock is suddenly exhausted. This must come across in his face, because Jim gives his shoulder an affectionate pat before standing up.

"Get some sleep."

Spock nods. He recognizes that he should say something more; express thanks, gratitude, something, but his brain is moving at half its usual speed, and all he manages is a nondescript sound of agreement. Perhaps it's just his imagination, but he's almost certain Jim whispers a nonsensical comment about his dreams being somehow "sweet", before the door slides closed and the day's weariness loses him to slumber.

**Thoughts?**

**Chapter Three to occur soon. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello everyone! I apologize for the wait, but for those of you who follow me on a regular basis, you'll know that I am painfully slow on updating, so this is nothing new. I am quite pleased with this chapter, as it is basically a rough, one-shot draft. No doubt it could use a little more time cooking, but I am heading out of town for the weekend (4th of July and all) and I wanted to get this posted before I left. Feedback always appreciated- thank you all for your patience and support. XX**

Jim struggles in the doorway of his First Officer's Quarters as he attempts to balance both the hefty tray and stack of books currently caught in a battle between his hands and gravity. Lifting one leg to set the tray on, he manages to punch in the override code with one hand- materials precariously clutched in the other - thus granting him access to the room inside. He pads softly inside. In a low voice, he requests the lights be turned up to 40%, setting down the tray and books in the process. Finally he glances over to the bed, and can't help but smile when he does.

Spock is laying in a small ball in the middle of the bed, knees curled up in a fetal position against his chest. The relative silence of the room is repeatedly disrupted as the Vulcan gently snores, mouth slack to make room for the air that he is clearly unable to inhale through his snuffed-up nose. His cheeks are notably flushed, (a truly weird lime green color that Jim can't help but snicker at) but the pained expression from earlier has dissipated into a look of peaceful slumber. He's shivering slightly, so Jim tucks in the blankets around him. He looks relaxed, peaceful. (If Jim has to put an emotion on it, he might even go so far as to say "serene".) It is unusual for Spock to look so human- vulnerable and childlike, and Jim finds it quite refreshing.

And a little bit cute.

Carefully, so as not to awaken the patient, Jim settles down in a chair beside the bed, cracking open a PADD and scanning last months' flight report. Jim slowly sinks lower into the cushions- which are surprisingly comfortable given the "no-nonsense" nature of their owner, reading for what seems like ages, and his eyes are beginning to ache when the being in the bed finally stirs.

"Captain?"

"Hey." Jim sets down his PADD and scoots forward, wincing a little at the pain in his back from his awkward position in the chair. "How are you feeling?"

Spock frowns, eyes glassy and confused. "I do not understand. What are you doing in my quarters?"

Jim shrugs in what he hopes comes off as nonchalance, suddenly unsure of why exactly he _is_ here. Struggling for an explanation, he opts for the factual route. "I sent you off the bridge a few hours ago- you're sick. Had a pretty nasty fever and you practically dropped as soon as I came in to check on you." Jim glances at the time on the PADD. "You've been out for almost three hours."

This information causes Spock to bolt upright, obviously alarmed to discover he has been unproductive for such a long period. However, the motion sparks a rather violent fit of coughing, with Spock desperately clutching one fist to his mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the sound. Jim looks concerned.

"That doesn't sound good." He is suddenly holding a tricorder from the med bay, and holds it up against Spock's neck as the coughing diminishes. Under different circumstances, Spock might have protested, but given his weakened state, the Vulcan manages little more than a disapproving quirk of the mouth. Jim ignores it. The device beeps, and Jim frowns.

"You're definitely feverish."

Spock looks up, eyes watering and voice raspy. "That is indeed accurate, Captain, but I myself could have told you as such." The wry attempt at sarcasm comes off somewhat flat, and Spock coughs again, looking miserable. The sound is dry and (assumably) painful, and the congestion from earlier seems not to have dissipated. Jim's heart goes out to his friend, and begins to move his hand out to rub the Vulcan's back, but then remembers Spock's distaste for physical contact and retracts his hand. If Spock notices the gesture he doesn't comment, and Jim quickly slides into doctor mode, hastily covering the moment of awkwardness.

"Are you nauseous?"

Spock shakes his head, too caught up in dry coughing to bother with a verbal response.

Jim hums. "Well, that's good I suppose. Probably just a cold." He drops the tricorder to the bedside table when Spock finally collects himself.

"A what?"

Jim looks up. "What?" It's unlike Spock to be so vague, and Jim finds this new generality of speech somewhat unnerving.

Spock coughs into his wrist before continuing. "Unless my illness has impaired by mental processing more than I am aware, I believe you said I was suffering from a malady known as the common cold."

"Yes."

"I am afraid that is simply impossible, Captain."

"How's that?"

Spock's face is as collected as ever, but Jim can detect the tiniest hint of alarm in those brown eyes. "Vulcan's simply do not contract such erroneous illnesses. It is impossible." He looks slightly panicked. Jim fights the urge to grin, but ends up doing it anyway.

"Well, lucky for you, the half-human part of you is less resilient when it comes to getting sick. Don't worry though," He adds, because Spock is looking positively horrified; "It's just a cold. You'll be fine in a few days."

This news does virtually nothing to ease the panic in his First Officer's eyes, and Jim softens slightly. "Hey, you're going to be fine. Nothing Bones and I can't handle!" This news is perhaps even less effective in easing Spock's mind, but there is a small mercy in his Captain's understanding of the situation.

"I..." Spock stops and swallows, displeased at the grating sensation this causes in his esophagus. "I have never experienced a cold."

Jim is incredulous. "You've never had a cold? Ever?"

"Never. As Vulcans do not contract said illness, and a generous portion of my life was spent on Vulcan, there have been few opportunities for exposure of said pathogen." Spock sniffles stuffily into his shoulder, and ever goes so far as to rub his nose with his hand, which Jim takes to mean that he must be feeling a lot worse than he's letting on. Still, it's vaguely endearing anyway; watching his stoic, unflappable First Officer sniffle and cough like a five-year-old. Granted, a very sick, bewildered five-year-old who doesn't know what to do about a common cold, but lucky for both of them, Jim has had enough colds and flus for the whole crew, and isn't about to let his friend suffer alone.

"Here." Jim hands over a box of tissues, and Spock takes one gratefully, blowing his nose and coughing. Jim then proceeds to hand over a glass of water (Spock raises an eyebrow at the bendy straw, but doesn't comment on it). It's not until he puts down the tray- laden with a generous bowl of vegetable soup, that Spock looks confused.

"What is this?"

Jim grins. "Soup."

A frown (possibly of distaste). "Of what medicinal value does this soup contain?"

Jim shrugs. "None. But it'll warm you up, and at any rate you need to keep your energy up. Can't have you passing out again."

Spock still looks skeptical, but begrudgingly takes a mouthful, contemplating. He pokes at the bowl with a spoon, as though analyzing its contents. "And what are these?"

Jim peers down. "Noodles. Usually people like chicken noodle soup when they're sick, but the staff reminded me that Vulcans don't eat meat so I had to improvise with the replicator. Is it alright?"

Spock nods, taking another bite. "The meal is quite satisfactory."

Jim smiles, trying not to look too pleased with himself.

"Glad to hear it."

Spock hesitates, mid bite, before looking up. "Thank you." He pauses. "Jim."

Jim smiles again, and lets himself place a hand on Spock's knee, squeezing gently. "Any time."

**Thoughts? I realize that it is unlikely Spock is oblivious to what the soup contains, but I liked the idea of exposing some of his blind spots as a character, since it seems logical that a majority of human-esque traditions would be beyond him. Coming from someone who has written far too many Sherlock fics, I always enjoy highlighting some of the vulnerability found in even the strongest of characters, and this seemed appropriate. Obviously the other quirk is this chapter is the lack of plomeek soup, but I was more partial to Jim offering a human dish to Spock, so this happened instead. Comments very much appreciated! XX **


End file.
